Smiling, he drapes his arm around my shoulders. “I wouldn’t let anyone bite you, sweetheart. Seriously.”
“But there will be people getting bit?”
He goes rigid. “Yes.”
I swallow hard. “Will they… will the Vampires be killing them?”
He shakes his head. “This is just a feeding ground, a place to feed on willing humans in a closed space where you don’t have to worry about getting caught.”
I angle my neck back to look at him. “Willing humans?”
He nods once, his eyes focused on the sidewalk ahead. “Vampire bites are intoxicating in ways I can’t even begin to explain. Some humans love it… it’s like a drug for them and so they come to clubs like these to get their next hit.”
I picture teeth sinking into my neck. Pain. Then euphoria? If it’s true, it sounds kind of sexy.
I push the thought from my head. “So who is this all-knowing person that we’re going to see?”
He inches to the left as a sleek, black car rolls up the road, driving close to the curb. “Draven.”
“The guy you were so afraid of back at the Black Dungeon? I thought he was dangerous and the reason why… the reason why Aislin got bit.”
“Aislin got bit because she was a Keeper and most Vampires loathe Keepers.” His jaw goes taut as we round the side of a warehouse. The road reaches a dead-end of dumpsters that line the walls of boarded up, metal buildings. “You’re not a Keeper, so you should be fine, but I’m not going to try and convince you that what we’re doing isn’t dangerous. I think you deserve more than being lied to and walking in blindly.”
“And I appreciate that,” I say. “I’m just a little nervous.”
“That’s perfectly understandable,” Laylen replies as we halt in front of a door on the side a large, rusty looking warehouse. “But Draven should be able to help us.”
“How though?”
“You know how I can control emotions?”
Goosebumps dot my skin, but more from excitement than the cold. “Yeah.”
He glances up at the stars in the sky. “Well, Draven has a different kind of gift—or curse depending on how you want to look at it. He can see what’s going on in different realms.”
“Realms, like The Underworld.” I shiver.
He nods, his attention drifting to the door. “So, if we can get him to agree, he should be able to see if your mom’s still there… it’s going to be hard, though.”
“I figured as much,” I tell him. “Since nothing is ever easy.”
He gives me a partial smile and then removes his arm from my shoulder to rap his hand on the door. The sound echoes from the inside, the only noise that can be heard around us. I’m about to ask him why it’s so quiet when the door swings open and light floods the night.
On the other side of the door is a tall man wearing a hoodie and his dark eyes resemblie coals. His skin is extremely pale like Laylen’s, his lips are a deep red, and he has a sequence of tattoos on his neck.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the cruor fastidio." He leans against the crooked doorframe, assessing Laylen with his dark eyes while I struggle to figure out what a cruor fastidio means.
“You know I’ve drank blood, Kameron” Laylen replies, his blue eyes intense and his voice sinking to a low octave. “I merely choose to do it only when necessary.”
Kameron shakes his head as he runs his tongue along his teeth. “Blood is always necessary in life, but you really don’t have one, do you?”
Laylen glances at me and then to Kameron, remaining nonchalant. “I need inside. Now.”
Kameron’s eyes devour me. “And who’s this lovely creature right here?”
“No one you need to know,” Laylen states, inching in front of me so I’m partially hidden behind him.
Kameron leans to the side to get a better look at me. “She looks like a Black Angel, but the nervousness in her bloodstream suggests otherwise,” he says and then waits for something. Perhaps for Laylen to deny that I am a Black Angel or insist that I do have hidden wings on my back, but Laylen never utters a word. “Fine, remain silent then.” He steps back, getting ready to close the door.
Laylen slams his hand forcefully against it, shoving the door back open. “I said I need in.” His blue eyes blaze and his voice is low, sultry, dangerous.
It’s giving me the chills and adrenaline crashes through my body. I’m scared, yet excited for things I’m not sure I should be excited for. I inch back, but only because my mind and body are becoming so perplexed. I wonder if it’s because Laylen is getting pissed and his emotion gift—or curse—is no longer under his control.
“You know the rules.” Kameron draws the hoodie off his head. His hair is black like the night sky and there’s a scar running diagonally on the side of it. “I can’t let a Black Angel in here. Only Vampires and humans.”
“She is human,” Laylen breathes through gritted teeth, slanting in toward Kameron. “Now open the door.”
Kameron stands upright, trying to stand taller than Laylen, but he lacks the height. “She looks like one, though.”
Laylen backs up with his arms expanded out to the side of him. “But she’s not and, if you’d look harder, you’d realize it.”
Humor dances in Kameron’s eyes. He’s toying with us and completely enjoying it. “Prove it. Make her bleed. Black Angels won’t bleed.”
I wince at the mention of blood and immediately recoil. “What?”
Laylen looks over his shoulder and the fire in his eyes makes me cower back even more. For a second I think he’s going to attack me, but then he blinks and the Laylen I know reappears. He turns back to Kameron. “No fucking way,” he growls.
“Then you’re not getting in,” he replies and starts to close the door again, about to slam my opportunity to find out about my mom away.
I peel back the bandage on my wrist and stride forward showing him my fresh wound. “Look, it’s almost still bleeding.”
He shakes his head. “I want to see your body dripping out blood.”
My expression falls. “That’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair.” Kameron pauses with an impish smile on his lips and I can tell he’s just messing with our heads. “I want to see Laylen bite you.”
Laylen and mine’s jaws drop. “No way,” Laylen says, seeming horrified. “I can’t.”
Kameron opens his mouth, showing me his set of teeth, white, glinting, fangs fully in view. “Vampires feed on blood, Laylen. That’s what we were made to do.”
“No way,” Laylen repeats simply. “I won’t do it.”
“Then I’ll do it.” Kameron’s eyes fix on me. “Trust me, if you let me sink my fangs into,” he inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring, “that delicious looking skin of yours, I swear you’ll be begging me to never stop.”
On the inside I squirm, but on the outside I’m surprisingly composed. “At first, you said that I need to bleed, not let you feed on me, so give me a damn knife and I’ll show you I have blood in me, even though I’m pretty sure you already know that.”
I expect him to get angry, but instead he cocks his eyebrows. “You know, I really didn’t believe you were one, but the cockiness and boldness coming out of you right now is making me second guess my original assumption.” Kameron starts to slowly shut the door again. “Now bite or no deal.”
I almost hiss at him and snap my teeth. I have no idea where my emotions are coming from at the moment. Whether it’s from the disturbing environment, or if Laylen’s manipulating my emotions. I turn to Laylen and tip my chin to meet his eyes.
I’m trying not to get angry, but the idea of punching Kameron in the face right now is really appealing. He’s the one thing getting in my way of perhaps learning something about my mother’s whereabouts.
“Bite me,” I tell Laylen and his eyes nearly pop out of his head. Before he can argue, I add, “Just scuff my skin with your teeth. You don’t have to drink any of my blood, just spill some out.”
“Now
that’s not fun.” Kameron pouts as he crosses his arms and leans against the doorway. “I want to see a show.”
I glare at him. Sick, twisted, pervert.
“It’s not for fun,” Laylen says, and my attention returns to him. His eyes locked on me and his brows are furrowed. “It’s only so you have to let us in.”
Kameron rolls his eyes. “Fine. Scrape your teeth against her and prove that she’s a mere mortal... so fucking boring.”
Laylen’s lip twitches as he stares down at me. His body spasms as he struggles to keep his expression tranquil and I wonder what I’m getting into; how dangerous will this really be? Will he lose control? Drink my blood? Kill me? Do I care?
I stick my trembling arm toward him and his gaze instantly snaps down to it, zoning in on my wrist. In the moonlight, my skin looks white and the bluish purple vein below it is visible.
Laylen’s long, cold fingers curl around my wrist and he wets his lips with his tongue. Then he lowers his mouth to my arm and my heart slams inside my chest as his lips part, his neck muscles tensing as a pair of fangs descend from his gum line. He lets out a growl that makes my heart leap and then a groan that makes my stomach somersault. I try to hold as still as I can, but a flurry of emotions—some dark, some fearful, some needy—whisk through me as I watch his mouth brush my wrist.
He bites on his bottom lip, sucking his lip ring into his teeth, and strands of his blond hair fall into his eyes. Seconds later, I feel a sharp, fiery sting as his fangs delve into my wrist and pierce through my skin.
“Ahh…” The pain mingled with bliss in my voice shocks me. My muscles tense as blood seeps out of my wrist, two pools of blood trickling a path down my arm.
He doesn’t put the fangs in deep, but he doesn’t pull back, either. His eyes shut and he lets out a deep, throaty groan that sends a shiver of pleasure through my body. I bite down on my lip hard to keep myself from begging him to sink his teeth into my pulse. It feels so Goddamn good and the idea of them being in further—him being in further—is driving me crazy. My skin is humming, my pulse throbbing, and my mind as well as my body are spinning out of control. I reach up and clutch onto his shoulder with my free hand.
“I can’t…” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin. “I need to stop…”
“Can’t what…” I breathe, forgetting where I am, what’s happening. Nothing other than his teeth and my blood seem to matter.
He pulls away, looking euphoric, like he’s high on my blood; his pupils possessive and out of touch with reality. The look makes my pulse hammer even faster and I can feel an emotion drizzling through my veins; a comforting need to surrender myself to Laylen. The lesions on my wrist continue to trickle out blood, a red trail rolling down my hand and onto the pavement below my feet. I cover them with my hand, trying to limit the amount spilled, but only because of Kameron and the fear that the sight of it might cause him to attack me.
Laylen’s fingers are trembling as he opens his eyes and releases my wrist. He holds my gaze for a moment and the atmosphere intensifies between us as a connection forms. Ripping his gaze off me, he turns to Kameron. “Now get the fuck out of the way,” he orders in a stern, yet subdued voice.
Kameron’s demeanor is casual as he steps back, sucking in a breath and breathing in a mouthful of air. “Are you sure you don’t want to share?” he asks. “We could each take a wrist.”
Laylen says nothing and shoves his way inside the warehouse, slamming his hand against Kameron’s chest hard enough that he crashes into the door. I hurry in, pressing my hand to my wrist.
“Oh, fine. Take the fun out of my job.” Kameron shuts the door and walks around us, heading for a spiral stairway in the middle of the empty concrete room. We follow him and, with each step, the air grows colder and the atmosphere darker as the roof shifts from dingy, broken skylights to rusty, metal beams. I can hear music playing from somewhere, smell the potent scent of salt and sweat, and feel the ground pulsating below my boots from the rumble of the bass.
When we arrive at the top of the stairway and halt as Kameron begins to unlock the multiple padlocks on a solid steel door. Laylen’s head is down, his chin tucked in, and I’m worried he’s upset about what he’s just done. I hook my finger under his chin to get a better look at his expression.
He’s not upset. More like intense. His fangs have retracted, his blue eyes appear shades darker, almost like sapphires, and there’s blood on the bottom of his lip, a thin trail just beside his lip ring. My blood, waiting for him to lick it.
“You have blood on you lip,” I mutter. I reach forward and slowly swipe my finger along the spot of blood. I smear it a little and go over it again until most of it is off his lip and on my finger. I’m about to pull my hand away, when his mouth unexpectedly moves forward and my finger ends up inside it on top of his tongue. Shutting his eyes, he sucks the blood off, licking my finger while he inhales deeply and then exhales.
He moves his mouth away as my jaw drops. I’m shocked and shamefully turned on in ways I didn’t know were possible. I pant heavily, my chest heaving. Laylen opens his eyes and his tongue slips out of his mouth again, licking the remaining blood off. “God… you taste so good...”
Then Kameron utters something about letting him get a taste and Laylen looks away from me, breaking the tension as he glares at Kameron. Clearing my throat, I quickly wipe the blood on the side of my shorts and put my hand back over my injured wrist.
Kameron gets the door open at the same time that Laylen catches my eye as we step over the threshold and onto the grated flooring. There’s something in his expression, shame or desire. Perhaps a mixture of both.
I’m freaking out inside, unsure how he feels at the moment or how I feel—how I should feel. The prickle is getting me nowhere, stabbing at my neck and pumping all kinds of disorder through me.
Yet, as I glance around at the room, any thoughts or feelings of anything else float from my head.
Vampires. Everywhere. And they’re feeding.
Chapter 4
Watching a Vampire feed is a strange sight. However, watching an entire room of Vampires suck blood from willing humans is appalling. Yet, in the twisted side of me, the one I’m barely getting to know, it’s strangely stimulating.
“Rascauche” by At The Drive-In flows from the speakers surrounding the room. The lyrics and soft tune encompass the large floor and lights shimmer down onto the Vampires’ euphoric faces. A lot of them are dancing, but some are simply standing in the light watching the others, doing one of two things that my mind can barely comprehend; touching each other and feeding off the blood of a human. Some have their fangs plunged deep into the neckline of the victim, while others choose the wrist.
“You’re on your own now,” Kameron calls out over the music, and then disappears somewhere into the crowd, grabbing the hair of a woman wearing a floor-length satin dress. She looks happy to be with him, content, and I wonder if I look the same way right now.
“Good riddance,” Laylen mutters, and then makes his way toward a bar at the back of the room, motioning me to follow. When he reaches the countertop, he scoops up a shot of a brownish liquid that the bartender magically puts down the moment he arrives. He swigs it down, sucking every last drop out with his head tipped back. He licks the brim of the glass with his tongue before dropping the empty glass back down on the counter.
The bartender, a medium height, curvy brunette smiles at Laylen as she wipes the counters down, her lips parting as if she’s about to say something.
“Not now, Taven.” Laylen says, then makes a veer to the right toward a corridor with blood-red doors and floors as black as ash.
I rush to keep up and he waits for me in the arched entryway. “Are you okay?” I ask as we enter the corridor. The black marble, domed ceiling is laced with red lines that look like blood and there are lanterns and a few chains as well as cuffs secured to the walls.
He nods only once, though his jaw tightens. “I’m fine.”
&nbs
p; I stay silent, hyperaware of his distant attitude. It terrifies me not only because he’s my friend and I’m afraid I’ve broken him, but also because of the craving soaring through my body, the strange need for his fangs to return to my skin.
Halfway down the corridor, we pass two large men dressed in black suits stationed in front of a shut door. Neither of them acknowledge us and we continue walking, the music from the bar fading the further down we go.
My wrist has stopped bleeding, but there’s a drying trail on my hand. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He nods, and then shakes his head, letting out a sigh that seems to clear the tension between us just a little. “I’ll get there… I just… I just hate drinking blood.” He avoids eye contact with me. “Yet I don’t, which makes me hate it more. And yours…” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “God, it smelled so intoxicating.”
My heart aches for him, but at the same time his words put a wave of hunger in me; one that wants to feed, or him to feed on me anyway. We’re embarking into dangerous territory and, even though I know it, it still takes me off guard.
“You didn’t drink it, though,” I remind him. “Only drew it from my body.”
“Still, I wanted to drink it.” His gaze meets mine as we arrive in front of a door at the end of the hallway. There’s a colossal, golden and black vase on each side and a mirror above it that reveals our reflections. We look high and sedated. “I wanted to taste you, so fucking bad.”
I’m unsure what to say to him. “Okay.”
He seems as perplexed as I do. “Okay?”
I’m not sure what we’re agreeing to, but it feels like we’re agreeing to something. The atmosphere lightens and Laylen’s demeanor changes, his posture unstiffening, his jaw loosening.
He hesitates before knocking on the door. “Stay by me at all times,” he whispers.
I quickly nod as several latches click, and then the door cracks open.
“What do you want?” a voice snarls through the crack as smoke rushes out of it.
“I’m here to talk to Draven,” Laylen states calmly.
Shattered Promises 02 - Fractured Souls Page 4
